


disco_date.discard('robbie')

by dietpitt



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Ending, Car Sex, Condoms, F/M, Face-Sitting, Female Ejaculation, Female Reader, Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Swooning Over Stans: A Grunkle Dating Simulator, Violence Against Vehicles, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25044250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietpitt/pseuds/dietpitt
Summary: The official continuation of what would happen if the self-indulgent Grunkle fantasies could've gone full-out, and if Robbie had made a successful getaway.
Relationships: Stan Pines/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 233





	disco_date.discard('robbie')

**Author's Note:**

> This baby is looong overdue, as I wanted to write it out properly in 2017 when I was writing the actual Stan date that'd end up in the game (and to use a lot of details/bits were things that were cute but didn't make it). I thought I'd never done so, but found some lost notes in my cloud with an outline from March 2018, and I finally started finishing it for myself. But it's been a rough two years, and after so long I didn't think anyone would care. But hitting the fundraising goal for the SOS anniversary stream was the final kick in the ass I needed to get over my crippling anxiety to clean it up and publish it. It's been very therapeutic to merge the old writing with the new, and most of all, to find comfort in my comfort character again.
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my heart to my pals, everyone who liked SOS, those who wrote their own take, and to Alex, Dana, and Daron for being the biggest enablers of them all.
> 
> I'm very happy. My unfinished business is complete. Hope you enjoy. Now, I die...

“Stan, I… I really like you.” You finally say, avoiding his eye as you toy with the gold chain at your fingertips, trying to keep your nerves while you’ve still got them. You can hear him swallow thickly, despite your heart thrumming in your ears.

“I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you these past couple weeks. _Even_ when you got me shot at.” 

He laughs softly at that, and it gives you butterflies. “I can’t tell you how much of a relief it’s been to not only escape death by complete boredom, but to also find myself having some of the most fun I’ve ever had, period.”

You need an extra gulp of air for this next part.

“Thank you so much for tonight, Stan. I’m glad you brought me here. All of this has been absolutely incredible, and… I’m gonna miss you.”

A glance upwards and you nearly lose the strenuous grip on the breath you’re holding as Stan regards you with a swell of emotion you can’t quite place, but that makes your heart melt and break at the _same damn time_ anyway.

You swear his pulse skips a beat under your palm, and are certain your own does the same when he looks away. His pronounced jawline is further exaggerated in the shadows of the night, and you see it clench before he faces you once again.

It’s a haze-- you don’t know who leans in first, or more, or _anything_ , but all you know is that Stan’s large, warm hands are suddenly cupping your face as your lips meet.

It’s sweet, but somewhat clumsy, as his glasses remind you of their existence by hitting your cheek as he leans in close. But you barely notice and don’t at all care, as any lingering fears about your confession dissipate into a dreamy hum against his lips.

You forget to breathe after a moment and part, when you’re blessed with the sight of Stan’s big dumb grin and pink-dusted cheeks. You’re both breathing a bit heavier than before, and he turns slightly shy again, licking his lips and huffing out a laugh of disbelief.

“Was that-- er, are you… okay?”

“Way more than okay. But,” His brow creases in concern before you finish. “...I think we can do better.”

Stan chuckles as he brings you even closer against him with a strong arm, meeting you halfway and kissing you again. He’s more confident now, more sure with his hands at your approval. You get lost in this, and although this kiss thankfully shows no sign of stopping anytime soon, it’s still a bit awkward side-by-side like this...

Your date makes a noise of surprise when you grab him by the collar and down to the seat with you, but quickly feel his smile on your own as your arms wrap around him, the kiss deepening. He then moves to your neck, peppering affection along your neck, your collarbone, his stubble prickling you in the most delightful way.

His hair’s ruffled beyond repair now, thanks to your eager fingers, and you have to admit you definitely prefer it this way-- especially with the skewed glasses and flush at the tips of his ears.

And so you get caught up in this moment-- in Stan’s embrace, his kisses, each one more electrifying than the last, and his hands caressing your sides in a way that makes his name fall from your lips--

**HOOOOOOOOOOOOONK**

The pair of you jolt, heart practically flipping out of your chest while Stan’s head shoots up at the noise so fast that he hits the roof of the car with an embarrassing _CLUNK_.

He swears furiously, rubbing at the sore spot while searching for the source of the disruption.

“What the--”

You join just in time to be flashed by a single headlight from across the way, its owner a dark van that’s presumably just finishing off a hurried U-turn.

But before either of you can make out any details, the tires screech as the vehicle swerves frantically away from the cliff’s edge and back onto the dirt road, then out of sight.

Blinking away the surprise encounter, your head falls back against the seat in relief. Aside from looking annoyed as hell at the mystery car’s intrusion, Stan’s still over you, though he’s sending a death glare out the window, to no one in particular except the night air.

Snaking your arms back around his neck to regain his attention, his grimace falls at the small laugh which bubbles out of you when the ridiculousness of it all hits.

“They sure left here in a hurry,” he grumbles lightly, not missing the way you bite your lip with a smile.

“You think they left the stove on?”

He just scoffs, resuming his steady hold on your waist. “Hope so.”

“Any idea who that was?”

“Nobody I give a shit about, that’s for damn sure,” Stan mutters, leaning into you once again but stopping just short as, for what seems like the millionth time tonight, he’s made you laugh-- yet this time, his eyes seem to light up anew at the sight of you doing so from beneath him, hair mussed and cheeks hot.

He clears his throat noisily before speaking. “So uh, you alright with-- are y’sure about _this_ whole thing,” he gestures between the two of you to emphasize what “thing” he means, though it clarifies little.

But dammit, he’s so _sweet_ that you can barely stand it.

“Stan,” you say firmly, slipping a leg up and over his waist, “I’ve haven’t been as sure about anything this entire summer as I am about this.”

And there’s that grin again, genuine and endearing, a thousand and one watts of pure joy. “Good,” he breathes, the low timbre of his voice sparking something dangerous in your veins. “Now c’mere, sweet thing.”

Calloused fingers find the hem of your dress as Stan finally dives back in for a hot, open-mouthed kiss. It’s completely overwhelming, his tongue taking charge of your own while the breadth of his palm explores along the skin of your upper thigh.

It’s lovely, but far too little for what you need now-- you need him to _really_ touch you. You take his wrist, guiding his hand to the molten heat between your legs.

He groans against your hair at your wetness, just a graze of his fingertips over the fabric of your undergarment coating his fingers. “Sweet Moses…” His wide hand cups your sex fully then, middlemost digits dipping slightly inside and awfully close to what’s aching for them most.

It sets your nerves ablaze, but you can’t bear anything but _more_ of it, more of _him_. Your nails dig into the leather of his jacket in desperation, the leg squished against the seat joining the other at his waist, but--

Stan winces. “A- _ah_ , my _back_ ,” grunts, reluctantly sitting back on his haunches to rub the bothersome spot.

Ah. Yes, well, he’d been holding that position for a while now, and it’s not an easy one for everyone to do in this space, especially someone older.

“S’fine, s’fine,” he waves off your worry with a shake of his head. “The Stan O’War is in tip-top shape, but uh-- wouldya mind if we switched?”

Would you _mind?_ You’re _elated._

“Another ride on the Stan O’War? I’m already onboard.” 

He gets a big ol’ belly-laugh from that, shrugging off his tan jacket and haphazardly tossing it to the backseat. “Thought you’d be up for it. Here--” he reaches down out of sight to his left, and the whole bench lowers to a more reclined angle. You’ve already gotten a head start on your front buttons when he sits back and pats his lap, beckoning you forward with a smirk.

Of course, you oblige, straddling a widely-splayed thigh as the last button comes undone. You mentally thank yourself for the foresight, delighting in the delicious friction from that “V” of chest hair you’ve admired all night. The man’s hot breath on the newly exposed skin sends a shiver of arousal through you, and then a second when he starts to lick and nip at the apex of your breasts.

“I’d say,” Stan purrs, taking handfuls of your ass and lazily kneading the tender flesh, “we’re doin’ _much_ better. You?”

You’re so turned on it’s _dizzying_. You can’t think straight, but your body knows how to reply, hips grinding down against his lap-- his thigh meets your center, the movement bringing forth a gush of your pooling arousal.

He practically _growls_ into your ear as it seeps into his pants. “ _Fuuuuck_ , sweetheart,” he snaps the elastic on your lower cheek, “Yer gonna ruin my good slacks”.

You hide a pathetic whine against his neck. “S’ _your_ fault.”

“An’ all that for me, gorgeous?”

“I told you I liked you, didn’t I?!” You huff, his teasing making your face feel like a fucking furnace. You busy yourself then, hurriedly ridding yourself of the soiled garment, down your legs and past your knees.

“That y’did, honey,” Stan coos, fingers dipping down to your soft mons, playing with the hair there before dragging a thick digit between your sopping folds. “‘M _flattered_ , really.” He eases a finger into you fully, _finally_ , followed by another before finding your clit lightly with his thumb.

The stretch is _agonizingly_ good, but before you can even adjust he’s curled them forward and you burst onto his hand with a surprised moan of pleasure.

“Holy shit, dollface-- you weren’t fuckin’ kiddin’,” he says, marveling at you with dark, heavy eyes behind fogged-up lenses.

“I… I like hearing you talk,” you admit, undoing the rest of his shirt. It’s incredible that none of the buttons popped off completely, taught as they were against his barrel of a chest.

You miss the way his eyes widen at your words.

Stan reaches to the side again in a flash, and suddenly the bench is nearly down flat, his hold cushioning you from the jolt. “So’s this a bad time to ask ya t’sit on my face, then?”

Did… did you hit _your_ head on the roof?

“Wh-what??”

“With you likin’ me talkin’ an’ all--”

“I _heard_ you,” you find the buckle of his belt, tugging the first bit of leather through. “But-- don’t you want to…?”

He groans as you palm him through his trousers. “Sweetheart, I would’ve fucked you right there on the diner counter if I could’ve--”

 _That_ steals the air straight from your lungs--

“--But would ya do an old man a favor?”

“Hhgguhh…” Okay, you’re short circuiting now.

“Look hot stuff, I’m uh--” Stan looks away, tugging at the strap of your bra as sweat starts to drip down his temple. “‘’M not sure how long I can keep up with ya at this rate.”

“Oh, Stan--” 

“ _Besides_ , the night is young, and if yer gonna be leavin’ soon, I just gotta taste ya.”

 _Jesus_ _Christ_.

Well… you _did_ want to take advantage of these roomy seats...

And while you certainly have doubts about your looming departure, rather than bringing it up now, you answer him with a passionate kiss, taking his glasses with you when you part and placing them on the dashboard behind you.

Scooting yourself up, Stan’s hands find your hips and steady them, gathering the skirt of your dress up and to the side as you straddle his face.

“That’s it, baby, nice ‘n easy now.” The scrape of facial hair against tender flesh makes you hiss before full-on crying out when his tongue delves into your dripping cunt.

“Oooooh, _fuck_ , Stan,” you sob, his nose hitting your clit as he grabs your ass and holds you to his face, urging you to ride him with a groan.

The vibrations seem to echo through your very bones, and he repeats them when you begin to rut against him fully. The sounds are _obscene_ , but any attempt at coherent thought is lost when the thick muscle swirls around your clit and begins to _suck_.

Everything goes a blinding white, your spine _igniting_ as you cum so hard you swear you leave your fucking body for a moment, trembling as you practically scream whatever syllable it is that leaves your throat.

He’s still suckling when you topple forward, and it takes a firm tug to his hair for his grip to loosen.

“H-holy _shit_ ,” you gasp. Stan’s rubbing soothing circles on your back when you lift the end of your dress again and are met with a glistening, self-satisfied grin as he licks your slick from his lips.

“A ‘favor’, huh?” You say, sliding back into his lap to find his belt and fly already undone, striped boxers alone keeping you from his aching erection. “Y’get a lot of those kind of ‘favors’, Stan?”

He laughs, the crease of his eyes as he does so more noticeable without his thick frames.

“Here ‘n there, y’know…” His breath hitches as you slide the waistband of his boxers down to release him, cock thick and pulsing as it strains into your touch. 

“Remind me to do you another favor later,” your mouth waters at the very thought, “But right now, do me a solid and please tell me that you brought a condom.”

Stan grunts, reaching into his pocket with some degree of difficulty before presenting his wallet (how it fit into such tight pants without a crease, you can only speculate) and flips it open, family photo strip and several plastic packets falling out onto his chest. “Dammit--”

Cackling, you quickly fold the accordion strip back up into place before tossing it to the side. “You _sure_ you don’t think you could ‘keep up’ with me, Stan?” It’s then you notice each condom is a different bright color. You’re about to ask--

“Was cheaper to buy a few, an’ I was gonna give any I didn’t use t’Mabel--”

“You WHAT--”

“-- _She knows_ what they are. We’ve had the talk, but she collects ‘em for ‘balloon animal emergencies’ anyway.”

Right. She’s definitely getting a talk from you later. “..... Pick a color, Pines.”

He snatches the gold one up, ripping it open with his teeth and quickly rolling it on while the rest are tossed the wallet’s way.

Stan needs some much-deserved attention, so you take the opportunity to suck on the meat of his neck, guiding the length of him against your core and slicking it with your dripping release before easing him in slowly.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” he spits. He slides in to the hilt smoothly, thanks to your previous orgasm and renewed arousal, though his girth still stretches you beautifully. The fullness is maddening, and your hips start to swivel on their own accord.

“H-hold on there, sweetheart,” he says, halting your movement with a shaky grasp. “It’s- ‘s been a while,” he strains.

You don’t mean to squeeze around him, but the rumble from deep in Stan’s chest is so guttural that it scares you-- and makes you want to do it again.

“‘M sorry…” you sigh, tracing the worry lines of his brow, caressing his rough cheek in a plea to let you move. “It’ll be okay, Stanley. _Please_.”

He shudders, but allows it, and the drag of him along your sodden walls is a million times better than ‘okay’, the throaty moan of your name nothing short of _magnificent_. Every lift and drop of your hips springs you higher and higher, hauling Stan along with you to another peak.

But your legs are soon quaking, threatening to give out as your steady position on his chest wavers with each stroke. “F-fuck me, baby,” you plead, uncaring of how long he’ll last should he do so. “Please, make me yours.”

You nearly get whiplash as the bench seat swings upright again, the two of you pressed nose-to-nose as Stan leans slightly forward for leverage. “Yer gonna fuckin’ kill me, kid,” is all he manages, planting his feet and driving up into you _deep_.

You’re mewling, clinging to the seat and around his neck as Stan’s hips piston at a punishing pace, maneuvering you to meet each thrust.

“Y’got no _fuckin’ idea_ how long’ve wanted this,” his hips stuttering more and more with each word, “yer gorgeous, so good honey, _so_ fuckin’ good fer me--” 

His words are your undoing once again, hurling you over the edge with a wail as you break, cradling Stan’s head to you for some kind of tether to earth. He slams you down once more, twice, and a third and final time before he shudders, gripping you close as he cums with a roar, the following string of expletives mostly smothered against the valley of your chest.

Neither of you move for a moment, just taking in the sound of short breaths. You hum happily, relishing the ripples of satisfaction and carding your fingers through the locks at the nape of Stan’s neck. He surfaces for air finally, grip softening as he lets his head fall back against your palm.

You’re the first to speak. “So how long?”

“Hmm?” Those eyes are tired, but dreamy, blissed-out while the mind plays catch-up. “How long’s it been?”

“No no, how long have you wanted to fuck me?”

He snorts. “‘Member last week when ya said y’liked my bumper stickers?”

“Stan!”

"Look, if we’re bein’ honest here…”

“‘M’kay, but when did you start to _like_ me?” You tease, tugging on the gold chain at his clavicle.

“Alright alright, well…. S’not every day y’find someone who ‘ppreciates good art _and_ will steal it with ya--”

“Aww...”

“--An’ I gotta hand it to ya, yer real good with the kids, too.”

“ _Awwwww_ ,” you coo, kissing the crown of his head before you actually start to tear up. “You really are a big ol’ romantic…”

“Yeah, yeah…” he says in mock-annoyance, the curl of his lips betraying him, “Hey, my legs’re gettin’ numb.”

Pecking him on the lips for good measure, you sit up, though you’re not too happy about the sudden chill from the loss of his body heat; it's then you notice that the windows of the El Diablo are almost entirely fogged up.

“We sure worked up some steam, huh?” Stan ties the condom off and tosses it outside, which you would’ve shamed him for if you hadn’t just found the remains of your underwear, deeming them a lost cause (and slipping them in the glovebox for him to find later) and bringing your legs up under yourself.

“Sure did, cowboy. You kept up great,” you draw a smiley face onto the glass with your finger, and then a small heart. “And I would’ve let you, y’know.”

Stan rubs the bridge of his nose before putting back on his glasses. “Let me what, toots?”

“Would’ve let you take me right there at Greasy’s.”

“Goddammit,” he groans. “Yer tellin’ me we coulda been spendin’ the past two weeks like _that_?”

He gets a soft shove for that. “Oh, it was still fun. And worth the wait, right?”

“Yeah…” he says slowly, caught up in some far-off thought. “Definitely. But how mad wouldya be if y’were to wake up tomorrow an’ find, oh I dunno-- the engine of yer car missing?”

“Funny, I was just wondering what I’d do if, say, a shitload of gravel got poured in the hood for some freaky, _definitely_ supernatural reason.”

“Hey now, I worked hard on that thing y’know,” Stan laughs, holding an arm to you as an invitation.

Worrying the inside of your lower lip, you pause to grab the jacket from the back seat to drape it over yourself as you snuggle into his side. “Alright, fair. But what about a smashed headlight?”

“...That one’s a maybe,” he chuckles, turning the ignition to bring the Stanmobile back to life. The motor's purr isn't comforting as it should be though-- you don't to go back to The Shack yet, and you certainly don’t want to think about how you should be leaving Gravity Falls completely in just a few hours once the sun rises.

“H-hey,” your voice breaks just a hint, but you can’t be sure if Stan caught it, “I know we just ate, but… you mentioned a taco place?”

He perks up, visibly excited at the proposition. “Sure did, sweetheart. I know the best one in town.”

You give him a peck on the lips with a knowing smile. “The best, or the only?”

Stan shoots you a wink before shifting the car into gear, and carefully easing off the clutch. “ _Yes._ ” 

**Author's Note:**

> And then you woke up the next morning to miraculously find not one, but all four of you tires mysteriously slashed :O)
> 
> P.S.: Hirsch told me in 2018 to my face that he really wanted and meant to play the rest of the sim when he got the chance, and I live in constant turmoil wondering whether he has or not.


End file.
